


I’m Not Scared (of the dark)

by Hale13



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Bullying, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Whump, but some comfort, not the happiest of endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hale13/pseuds/Hale13
Summary: Peter is just so tired.  The world is too loud, his head is too full.  Maybe his coping mechanism to keep things quiet and calm isn’t the most well adjusted but Mr. Stark is dealing with the fallout from the Accords and he can’t inconvenience anyone anymore.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	I’m Not Scared (of the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> This story brought to you by ‘Dear Theodosia’ and ‘It’s Quiet Uptown’ from Hamilton.
> 
> Please be safe when reading. This is not the happiest of endings. 
> 
> TW for self-harm, depressive thoughts, suicidal ideation and general dark thoughts that come with depression. Don’t read if any of these things will effect you.

Peter is just so _tired_.

He’s not sure when he really started feeling this way constantly; sure, he’s felt the same way after his parents died, after answering a question wrong on his middle school quiz bowl team and losing the competition for them, after arriving just too late as Spider-Man… after getting Ben killed.

Anyway.

Peter is tired. He has fallen into a routine recently; get up, go to school, do his homework and then patrol until he can’t see straight, go to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat.

He can’t remember the last time he got a full nights sleep. Or even more than 3 hours at a time. He knows its wearing him down. He can see it in his pale face and the bags under his eyes. Can see it in the way his clothes hang just a little bit looser around his frame. Can see it in the worried looks Ned and MJ share over the lunch table. Thank god May hasn’t noticed. She started working nights 3 months ago and she and Peter generally only see each other in the morning and part of the day on Sunday.

Today he leaves school and the world is tinted grey at the edges. He feels too full and his head is screaming but he is able to still smile and reassure Ned and MJ that he’s good. He’s just going home to nap and, no, he won’t patrol tonight. Maybe just plant himself on the couch with a bowl of soup and marathon _Queer Eye_. Some good ol’ R&R.

When he gets home he actually stumbles his way to the bathroom and pulls out the razor blade he keeps stashed between the mirror and the wall. He bleeds until his head is empty and then he tightly wraps his arms and scrubs down the bathroom. He curls up on the floor in the corner of his room in the dark and just stares blankly at the wall opposite; watches the colors bleed out of the room as the sun sets. Let’s silent tears leak slowly down his face. Sits there until he passes out and wakes up abruptly around 3 AM. He unfolds stiff limbs and moves over to his desk to do his calculus homework. Unwraps his bandages when they start itching.

Unblemished skin crusted with dried blood meets his gaze. No scars. The muted noise warbles in his head. He’ll try harder next time.

* * *

Friday comes too soon and, with it, his required weekly training/workshop session with Mr. Stark. After Homecoming (and his declination of the offer to join the Avengers), Mr. Stark had taken more interest in his continued survival and made his ‘internship’ official. Peter started going over to the compound every couple weeks to do suit repairs and updates and learn how to actually throw a punch. Happy used to be a boxer apparently and Mr. Stark had trained in Wing Chun for years and had learned boxing from Happy.

What had started as purely professional soon became movie nights and popcorn fights on the couch in the Avenger’s old living room and workshop sessions where Mr. Stark taught Peter how to take apart the engine in one of his classic roadsters and put it back together. It turned from strictly superhero mentoring to something more. Something that made Peter’s chest feel warm and bubbly.

But it couldn’t last, nothing good ever lasted for Peter – Parker luck you know?

He had been meeting Mr. Stark at the compound or in his and Pepper’s Manhattan penthouse two or three times a week to basically fuck around. Sure he got his homework done and Mr. Stark did some stuff for the Accords committee and they worked on his suit but they normally ended up ordering copious amounts of take out and marathoning through multiple old sci-fi dramas and _Brooklyn-99_ and _Queer Eye_. They were on _Grey’s Anatomy_ now and neither wanted to admit how hooked they were. Productive time in the lab had been cut down more than ever over the past few weeks.

On the day _it_ happened he had bombed his Spanish quiz (well he made an 82 so he as good as failed) and, in decathlon, Flash had nabbed the quiz paper from between the pages of his text book and had loudly compared it to his own perfect score. Intellectually, Peter knew it shouldn’t bother him. He hadn’t slept well the night before and was still foggy from the concussion he got on patrol three days previous. Also, he knew that Flash had been raised bi-lingual and was taking Spanish for the GPA boost instead of one of the other language electives. But, and he blamed the aforementioned concussion, he let it get to him that day. Ears turning red and avoiding his team’s faces. Ned looked at him with pity but wisely kept his mouth shut at the small shake of Peter’s head. MJ was out sick and the rest of the team tended to ignore Flash’s bullying these days so it just made a perfect storm of bullshit for Peter to deal with.

After this going on for over five minutes, he finally packed up his materials and snatched the quiz from Flash’s hands and left practice an hour early much to the surprise of his team mates. He texted Happy and let him know that he was done early so, if he had time, could he pick him up? He received no reply and sat on the curb for 45 minutes studying Spanish conjugations before the sleek black Audi pulled up in front of the school.

Happy was never _really_ in a good mood but he seemed especially irritated today. Peter greeted him brightly as usual and profusely thanked him for coming early, already feeling a little guilty for being an inconvenience. Happy had just grunted and pointed the car in the direction of Queens – the opposite direction of the penthouse where he should be meeting Mr. Stark.

“Uh Happy?”

“Look kid,” Happy had said, rubbing his forehead like he was staving off a headache. “I know you and the boss enjoy your little play dates but he hasn’t slept in two days because of the Accords revisions and I’m not going to be the one to wake him up just so you two can screw around on Netflix.”

Peter felt a pit beginning to form in his chest. “I didn’t know the Accords were taking that much out of him,” he mumbled thinking back and realizing how tired Mr. Stark had looked over the past few weeks. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Happy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Besides not cavorting around as an illegal vigilante in direct violation of the Accords? Not really.”

“What?” Peter asked softly, the pit growing. “Mr. Stark said-”

“Yeah I’m sure he told you it was all good but Ross has been up his ass about nabbing you and bringing you in to sign. It doesn’t help that Iron Man has been seen helping Spider-Man on occasion. Ross knows that Tony knows you and definitely suspects that he knows you identity. Tony’s working on rewriting the thing to make it easier for you to help old ladies cross the street but it ain’t easy.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Peter begged and Happy must have picked up something in his tone because he looked back at him worriedly and guilt flashed across his face.

“Kid this is adult stuff okay? Tony’s gonna handle it,” he looked back at Peter again briefly before turning onto his street. “Don’t worry about it, forget I said anything.”

Peter thanked Happy for the ride and got out of the car, making his way upstairs in a haze. It wasn’t until he let himself into the dark apartment that he remembered that this was the first night of May’s new shift and she wouldn’t been home until well after midnight.

The pit in his chest grew deeper, raw edges catching and bleeding and throbbing. 

He dropped his bag in his room and curled up in the corner. He didn’t realize what he was doing to Mr. Stark. He was in trouble with the Accords committee because of him. He wasn’t sleeping because of _him_. He was putting off doing important work _because of him_. 

_Because of Peter._

He flunked a quiz today and when Flash made fun of him no one said anything. Peter thought it was just because everyone knew that all Flash could do was spout shit constantly but what if they agreed with him? What if Peter was pulling down the whole team?

And May. She loved working days in the NICU. She loved saving babies and helping their families. But she switched her shift and was training in the ICU because it got her a raise. She told Peter that she just wanted a change and that a little extra money never hurt but what if she switched because of him? Since getting his powers Peter had been eating more, taking more showers and using up hot water, using more data on his phone on patrol, buying shitty street food. May kept the bills away from him but what if he was overdoing it and making her work harder?

At least Happy had always been honest with him. He always acted like picking up Peter was an inconvenience. Like he was going out of his way. And all Peter did was repay him by spamming his phone with constant texts about his patrols and asking for favors like today.

When Peter finally came back to himself it was after 3 AM and he could hear May slipping off her shoes at the door and sneaking past his room. He body was tingling and stiff from sitting in the same position for so long but he had a plan. 

It took a couple months, but he was able to start weaning down workshop time with Mr. Stark. Peter was nothing if not smart and he took it slow and careful until he was down to visiting once a week for about 4 hours and almost exclusively for suit repairs and updates (not that there really were any. Peter still went out as Spider-Man because he knew Mr. Stark would get suspicious if he stopped completely but he cut his times way down and mostly swung around out of sight – sure he still saved people from muggings and rapes but he didn’t involve himself in the bigger stuff anymore). Sometimes he would stay for dinner if Mr. Stark really begged him to before he swung home.

It was a long way to swing but at least he only had to trouble Happy for the ride out there. His plan had him cutting back even more until he was only visiting once every month and it shouldn’t take too long to get there. He had already started refusing going to the compound since it was an hours drive out of town.

So that’s where he was now, slipping silently into the back seat of Happy’s car and gazing down at his lap. He knew that Happy hated his babbling so he had started to wean down his talking. By now most of their rides were completely quiet unless Happy asked him direct questions. He could sometimes catch concerned looks on the man’s face but Peter figured relief probably won over the concern. 

I mean, hell, he was already an inconvenience the least he could do was be as unobtrusive as possible.

Today was a quiet day. Happy greeted him and asked how his Chemistry test had gone. Peter had gotten every question right and had even been the only one to get the bonus question about chars correct earning him an extra ten points. If nothing else, his already excellent grades had improved under his new routine, he rarely scored less than a 98 on anything. Happy congratulated him and Peter murmured his thanks, his vision still grey around the edges and swimming a little. All he wanted to do was pass out but he had a plan. He just had to get through the next four or five hours and he could go home. Maybe Mr. Stark would see how tired he was and let him leave early.

In the before, he would have taken one look at Peter and decided that it was a Netflix night. He would have ordered a ton of pizza and fed him until his stomach was actually full (a feat with his metabolism) and then pulled Peter’s head down onto a throw pillow on his lap and untangled his curls while they watch _Star Trek_. Those were some of Peter’s favorite nights.

He had refused the offer so many times now that Mr. Stark never brought it up anymore. Only looked at him a little sadly before plugging his suit up to FRIDAY’s servers and getting to work. This also made Peter feel bad, the whole point of this was to make Mr. Stark _not_ worry about him.

Maybe he could streamline the plan and start asking to come every two weeks instead.

* * *

The penthouse was quiet when he came in, the soft sounds of Mr. Stark’s acoustic playlist humming gently in the background. Not a good sign – he only really played that when he was super tired or really frustrated. Peter scratched at his arms absently as he made his way down the hall to the workshop, swaying a little when his vision swam violently. He had reopened his arms every night this week and again that morning. The cuts were no longer uniform lines that faded within a few hours. They were messy and had only started to crust over by the time he opened them back up.

His dizziness and general tired and unwell feeling probably came from that. And maybe a little from the fact that he had started skipping lunch and dinner most nights. The money May gave him he would sneak back into her purse. He ate enough to keep him going and so that May wouldn’t get suspicious of the overly full cabinets and fridge but no more. Hopefully soon with the money she saved she would be able to move back to day shifts.

“Hey Bambino,” Mr. Stark greeted him when he entered the lab, distracted by whatever was on the screen in front of him. “I hate to do this, kiddo, but I’m going to have to cut today short – emergency Accords meeting in Washington tomorrow morning.”

“It’s no problem Mr. Stark,” Peter said in, what he hoped, was a bright tone. It sounded pretty dead to his own ears though so he cleared his throat and tried harder. “The suit is looking pretty good and I have enough web fluid to get through a few more weeks,” a lie but he could make more at home with his own chemistry set, “and I have a big project due in Physics next week that I need to finish,” true but he really only needed to alphabetize his bibliography and the project was done, “so I can just start patrol a little early tonight and get home before curfew.”

He dug his suit out of his bag to slip on over his clothes. He was planning on swinging straight home so who cared about any extra lumps or mobility issues?

“Hang on there buddy,” Mr. Stark said turning abruptly in his chair, “ you missed part of what I said; I have to cut the time _short_ not stop completely. And if everything is basically done why don’t we grab some Thai and catch up on a few episodes of _Queer Eye_ huh?”

Mr. Stark definitely knew his weaknesses – just about any other time he would fold completely for Thai and _Queer Eye_. How was he supposed to decline this offer without seeming too suspicious? In short, he couldn’t. Well not all of it anyway. “Okay.”

“Great! You want your normal order?”

“Uh can you actually just grab me an order of rice? The cafeteria food was pretty awful today and I’m not sure if I can eat much else,” he tired to look sheepish as he said it, reaching one hand up to scratch the back of his head while subtlety leaning his opposing hip against the lab bench. He really was getting dizzy.

Mr. Stark looked at him in concern. “Yeah you’re looking a little rough around the edges there kiddo. Maybe you should take a nap after we eat? Happy could pick you up at the normal time instead of early. Or you could just stay here overnight and he could drop you off at school in the morning.”

“You would leave me alone in your penthouse overnight?” That was said with some skepticism – surely Mr. Stark had more sense than that. Peter was not trustworthy enough to leave alone in a multi-million dollar penthouse that had a workshop filled with some of the most cutting edge tech available.

“Of course, Pete,” Mr. Stark said with a gentle look. “Although I might have Hap stay with you just to make sure you’re okay.”

Ah there it was. He has to really shut this down – he can’t inconvenience Happy even more; the poor man was already probably going to have to make another trip out to pick up Peter’s sorry ass and take him back home. “Thanks for the offer Mr. Stark, but I think I’d really rather just go home to my own bed your know?”

“Yeah I get it. It’s always nicer to be somewhere familiar when you’re not feeling well,” Mr. Stark said skeptically, clearly sizing Peter up. Peter needed to step up his game if he was going to fool actual genius Tony Stark but, damn, his head was really starting to hurt and his eyesight was getting more and more blurry; he felt like he was on a boat. “Pete? You good buddy?” Uh oh, he must not be selling it as well as he hoped.

“Yeah,” Peter murmured, his body swaying violently into the table he was leaning against causing Mr. Stark to jump up in alarm, “I think I should sit down.”

And with that the grey clouds that were slowly eating up his vision encroached upon him all at once and he felt his eyes start to roll back as his body fell toward the floor. He was out before he hit the ground.

* * *

Peter felt extremely groggy when he woke up. The room he was in was warm, the bed was soft and the lights were dimmed helping to keep the headache pounding behind his eyes from getting any worse. He took a couple moments to just breathe and take stock. His arms throbbed lowly and he still felt dizzy but he felt the best he had physically in days. But he knew that he was fucked now. He had passed out in front of Mr. Stark. There was a negative two hundred percent chance that Mr. Stark didn’t know about the slices on his arms or the weight loss. 

He couldn’t even muster the energy to feel anxious about that.

“Might as well face the music kid, I’ve known you long enough to figure out when you’re faking.”

Peter cracked his eyes open with a sigh. “Not really faking,” he mumbled as he glanced around the room. His blood loss must have been worse than he thought – both hands had IV lines snaking down toward them; one was obviously some sort of fluid to help rehydrate him and the other was a bag of his own blood that he had donated to keep in storage for emergencies. His arms were wrapped in pristine bandages from wrists to elbow and he also felt more than saw the soft restraints reinforced with vibranium mesh that circled his wrists and ankles.

“What? No apologies? That’s your usual MO,” Mr. Stark intoned sardonically, crossing his arms across his chest and making unforgiving eye contact. Normally Peter would acquiesce and frantically apologize, try to explain his reasonings and, basically, have uncontrollable word vomit. But, like most things recently, what was the point? Why should he apologize? Mr. Stark was the one who had chained him to a bed. “Silent treatment then? That’s fine, I can talk enough for both of us.”

Mr. Stark adjusted his chair so that Peter couldn’t avoid his glare. “More than anything right now I want to just take you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you. I could go into the whole ‘suicide is not the answer’ spiel,” Peter flinched violently at that. He wasn’t suicidal – he just needed something to make the world quiet when it got too loud. “Oh you don’t like that description of what you’re doing? You turned your arms into hamburger and passed out from blood loss, dehydration and malnourishment. Probably exhaustion too judging by the state of the bags under your eyes. This level of self destructive behavior only ends one way, Pete, and I’m not going to insult your intelligence by pretending you don’t realize that.”

“I can handle it. Maybe it got a little out of hand but I always heal,” Peter defended quietly, no real heat behind his voice. He knew what he was doing wasn’t sustainable long term and he clearly miscalculated what he could handle this time. Chalk it up to a learning experience.

“You’re not getting it,” Mr. Stark said, exploding out of his chair and pacing aggressively at the foot of Peter’s bed. Peter tracked him listlessly. “You clearly didn’t have a plan to stop and, if you had gone much farther, you would have died Peter. Do you get that? Dead as in not living.” Yeah Peter got that but would it really be that bad? I mean, realistically, he had been contemplating it in the deep, dark recesses of his mind for the past little while. May was really the only thing stopping him. But if it was an accident…

Mr. Stark glared at him, eyes narrowing. Yeah the man was a genius. Peter should have figured that he would guess where his mind was going. He watched his mentor dig two fingers into his eyes and heave out a sigh. “Do you remember the year of the Stark Expo?”

Peter was going to end up with whiplash if Mr. Stark didn’t cool it with all the topical and emotional changes. He nodded regardless, a small flame of curiosity niggling him.

“You might have been too young to see all of it but I was a little more… well _extra_ than usual that year.” Mr. Stark ran his hand down his face, scratching absently at his neatly trimmed goatee. “I fired the driver of the Stark Industries car at the _Grand Prix de Monaco_ so that I could drive. I signed my company over to Pepper. I threw a ridiculous birthday party and let Rhodey steal one of my suits. I fought with a congressional committee on C-SPAN. Remember any of that?”

“Uncle Ben really enjoyed that hearing. May didn’t really like you too much but Ben really hated Senator Stern and enjoyed watching him lose his cool with you.” A ghost of a smile ticked up the corner of Mr. Stark’s mouth.

“I had Palladium poisoning. I was dying during all of that,” Peter’s head jerked up and he made eye contact with his mentor for the first time. “Sure I made a half-assed attempt to cure myself. Drank DUM-E’s awful smoothies, researched applications of other elements but I wasn’t too upset about dying. _It’s not suicide if its an accident right_?” Mr. Stark held Peter’s eye contact. “I had support too. Pepper, Happy and Rhodey were around constantly trying to figure out what was going on and help. I never told them about the poisoning, I had JARVIS back then and he had some videos stored on his secure servers for them for when I died. I could have even gotten the Arc Reactor removed and resolved a lot of the symptoms. I had pretty much succeeded in alienating them when Natasha and Fury knocked some sense into me and gave me my dad’s research.”

Mr. Stark started pacing again. “And the battle of New York? You think I didn’t have nightmares about that wormhole for years? I didn’t sleep more than four hours at a time. I made over thirty Iron Man suits. I invited a terrorist to my house. That’s not exactly well adjusted.”

“You think I want to be like this?” Peter interrupted, cuffs rattling lightly as he attempted to gesticulate. “I _hate_ feeling like this. I hate not being able to enjoy anything. I hate being alone all the time. I’m so _tired_ but this is the only thing that makes it _stop_ what else am I supposed to do?”

“For someone so smart you sure can be a dumb ass sometimes,” Mr. Stark said exasperated. “Do you not get what I’m trying to say? I was a fucking mess _because_ I was trying to handle things myself,” he collapsed back in the chair beside Peter and took his hand, avoiding the IV catheter and restraint. “When it gets bad you have to go to someone for help. Sometimes we can’t do things on our own. It took Pepper and Rhodey teaming up to get me to see a therapist but it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I’m _here_ Pete. You can come to me anytime for anything.”

“But,” Peter started, the word coming out as a croak as his throat closed up with emotion, “you’re busy with the Accords and some of that is my fault. Because I’m Spider-man and I haven’t signed and I’m doing vigilante work.”

“So that’s why I haven’t been seeing much of you in the news recently,” Mr. Stark muttered. “Kiddo, the Accord’s aren’t your fault. You didn’t even have your enhancements when we were destroying New York and Sokovia and DC. You were still small time when the Avengers fucked up in Lagos. This is on us – we need to be held accountable. And not talking it out like adults and working together? That’s on us too. Do you understand?”

“But I-”

“Nah ah ah, the adult is still talking. I dragged you into that airport hoedown and exposed you to Ross so I shoulder some of that blame. Ross can have like a solid eighty-seven percent though. He has a vendetta against all enhanced so I’m not just fighting for you or because of you okay?”

Peter nodded. He didn’t really believe it right now though. “So what are you saying Mr. Stark?” He asked quietly. “Since I’m tied up here I doubt you plan on leaving me alone for the time being.”

“You’d be right about that,” The man answered, squeezing Peter’s hand gently. “You’ve been out for a few hours so I’ve had the time to come up with a plan. First things first is getting you physically better. You’re spending the next three days in this bed under my supervision. You are allowed to eat and sleep and binge as much Netflix as you want and nothing else.”

“And the restraints?”

“Can come off tomorrow once I update the en suite to include FRIDAY. Technically you aren’t on suicide watch since this wasn’t an active attempt to kill yourself but I’m not taking any chances. You might not like the rest of my plan.” Peter grunted. It was reasonable, he supposed, even if he didn’t like the accompanying claustrophobia.

“And then what? I go back to school and Spidering and come to you if I have a burning desire to rip my arms up?”

Mr. Stark looked disapproving. “No. Happy is picking up May after her shift tonight and she’s coming here. I haven’t told her anything yet,” he said at Peter’s horrified look, “but I’m going to. I need her approval for the rest of the plan anyway.”

“Can’t you just tell her I have the flu or something? I don’t want her to know. She’s going to be really disappointed and upset.”

“Yeah she is,” Mr. Stark said bluntly. “But she’s also going to be worried and want to do everything she can to help you and it’s important for you to have support right now whether you want it or not.”

“So my wishes don’t matter is what you’re saying?” Peter asked venomously.

“Pretty much.” Mr. Stark answered, ignoring Peter’s glare. “And then, pending May’s approval, you’re going to take a break.” Peter blinked in confusion, the anger melting off his face.

“A break?”

“Yep,” Mr. Stark said, the ‘p’ popping. “I have psychiatrist on staff who has signed plenty of NDAs and knows how to be discreet. I also have multiple biochemical labs that can synthesize any medication she may or may not prescribe you to work with your metabolism. So you’re going to take a leave of absence from school for a couple weeks and go to therapy and recuperate. You’re going to stay in this tower with me and FRIDAY and we’re going to talk about our feelings a lot and its going to be uncomfortable for a bit. But then it won’t be anymore and things will be better.”

“And you think you can make me do this?” Peter snarled off, clenching the fist Mr. Stark wasn’t holding into a tight fist and pulling on the stitches in his arm. Mr. Stark reached over and gently pried his hand open to keep him from hurting himself anymore, shifting to sit on the bed facing Peter and holding onto both of his hands.

“I think I can,” he began quietly, his eyes soft and drilling into Peter, “but I really don’t think I’ll have to will I Bambino?” He reached up and gently wiped away the moisture that Peter hadn’t felt build up and spill over his eyes. He opened his mouth to refute the claim but all that came out was a sob. “It’s okay, buddy.” Mr. Stark told him, his own eyes brighter than normal. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

And that was all it took, Peter completely fell apart. Something tight and cold came loose in his chest and he started sobbing, shoulders shaking, breath hitching as he clenched his eyes shut. Mr. Stark shushed him and leaned forward and pulled his head to rest against his collarbone, one arm resting warmly against his back as the other reached up to comb smoothly through his hair. “I need help, Mr Stark,” he choked out wetly. “I really need help – _oh god_! Please please please-” he begged. Broken words being absorbed in his Mentor’s hoodie.

“That’s the first step,” Mr. Stark told him quietly as he cried. “All you ever have to do is ask for my help and I’ll be there for you no matter what.”

For the first time in months, Peter didn’t need to bleed out the noise. Everything was warm and calm and silent. Everything was right.

* * *

One year _(_ _six years)_ later and Tony had broken his promise. The world was so loud.

Peter sat on top of the recently sold Avenger’s tower and watched the sunset. People were finally recovering from the blip. The world was slowly adjusting. There was a general sense of happiness and peace from a grateful population as they got back loved ones they thought they had lost.

And Peter? Well.

He gazed off into the sunset, fingering the healing cuts on his wrist and feeling at peace.

“See you soon Mr. Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry?
> 
> I left this open ended. If you would like, the Avenger of your choice (or May or Pepper or Morgan or Happy) finds Peter on the roof and literally/figuratively talk him off the ledge a la Happy in Far From Home on the plane.
> 
> The most unrealistic thing about Far From Home for me was that the mental health repercussions from Endgame were so minimal. Everyone processes differently but this is a kid who has lost just about everyone he cares about. He’s bullied, he has two friends and no healthy support network or coping mechanisms. I think it much more probable that it would have driven Peter closer to the edge.


End file.
